Teach Me To Be Bad
by HotForHannibal
Summary: Hannigail one-shot. Abigail is dissatisfied from her first day at college, and her daddy Hannibal is happy to teach her a lesson she won't forget.


"I don't like it there."

"Abigail, a thorough education is very important."

She studies him, a smirk on her lips as she answers defiantly, "I'm not learning anything."

She remembers exactly the last time she wore this skirt. It was when she visited her biological father at work. She'd worn it with high socks and Oxfords. But Abigail was in college now. Now, she wore it with bare legs and heels.

She watches as he drops his briefcase on the ground, kicks off his shoes delicately. Only when his eyes are on her again does she hop onto the bar in the kitchen. She knows he hates when she sits on the marble, but she can't resist. She spreads her knees apart, her skirt opening and revealing her thin pink panties.

"Teach me."

He steps over to her carefully. He knows how to tease her. She can never tell if he's angry with her or if he's just taking his time. Usually the latter. He maintains such a stern face, his strong jaw and hard brow unmoving as he slowly scans the length of her body, from her eyes to her open legs. He's so slow her heart races already, panicked that he might not give her what she wants.

But Hannibal touches his hands to her waist, leans close to her, lets his cheekbone brush against hers.

Abigail's tongue darts across his ear when she whispers into it, "Teach me to be bad, Daddy."

He's slow and methodical. His eyes don't shift from hers as he slips his hands beneath the fabric of her skirt. His cool fingers brush against her hot skin until he reaches the line of her panties. They are cotton and sensible. As he slides them away, coaxes them down her legs till they slip off the toe of her shoe and onto the floor, she feels her girlhood leaving her.

Her breathing is heavy. She can hear it as he lifts his hands to her chest. He is so still, so silent, she only hears herself. His thick fingers work at the buttons on her blouse, exposing her breasts bit by bit. Her bra is a frivolous obstacle when Abigail shrugs the white schoolgirl blouse away. He unhooks it deftly, revealing her erect nipples.

But when she's bare before him, he just stares.

Her lips slightly parted, she needs more.

As if sensing so at that precise moment, his lips move towards her jaw, planting slow, sturdy kisses there. His hand slips between her legs, touches her gentle, feels her moisten against his touch.

She doesn't want him to kiss her. She wants him to _bite_. She knows what he is. She needs him to consume her in lust the way he consumers others in hungry. Abigail is hungry for _him_.

But only his rhythmic kisses fall, accompanied by the soft circling of his thumb on her clit.

He kisses her nipples, lowers himself to kiss her stomach, His hand stops and she can't help herself—she moans, "Daddy …" she breathes, almost pleadingly.

But he only kisses her, kisses her till he hits the waist of her skirt. Then he descends again, and finally tastes her. His tongue is inside of her, rubbing her inside with ferocity. She gasps loudly, braces herself against the table at the force of his oral entry. Her juices moisten his tastebuds, and, when she thinks she can't take anymore, he pulls away, and the tip of his tongue rubs against her clit before he sucks on it. The suction makes her dizzy, makes her heartbeat erratic. He doesn't even mind when her hands bury themselves in his salt-and-pepper hair to push him deeper into her. Hannibal only responds with more force.

When she's sure she's about to orgasm, cumming hot and thick into his mouth, he slowly, delicately pulls away.

"Come inside," she begs, her eyes closed.

In his thick accent, he replies, breath hot against her face as he rises, "Lesson 1: Discipline."

And he steps away completely. She looks horrified as he backs up, removes his hands from her, chin glistening with her fluids.

He unbuttons his shirt before her, as methodically as he had buttoned hers. She knows he must be hard—he's bulging against his pants. He unzips those next, sliding his belt off slowly before slapping it on the table. The noise causes her spine to harden excitedly. He drops his pants and lets them fall around his ankles before stepping out of his boxers too.

He is hard, but he doesn't come towards her, even though she's practically panting, legs wide open and cooling against the moist seat of her pants.

Hannibal takes his cock in his hand and rubs along the shaft, fast and powerful. His eyes don't move from hers, even though he grits his teeth as he pleasures himself. She watches him desperately. She needs to touch him, needs to finish for him. She can't imagine letting him finish without having touched it at all. She sees in his posture that he is about to cum—

Then he stops.

"Discipline," he repeats with a knowing, grim smile.

The seat of her skirt is drenched.

"What now?" she asks faintly.

He takes a step towards her.

She's almost falling off the counter, trying to wrap her thin arms around him, trying to grasp his thick shaft and pull it into her.

With painstaking care, despite his full erection, he touches her again first. He flicks the fabric of her skirt back, all the way back, so that she is completely exposed. When he lunges toward to bite her neck, she cries out in pleasure. When he rips her off the counter, pins her shoulders to the fridge, and thrusts inside of her, powerful and fast, pleasure overwhelms her and she screams. His teeth bite her neck as her legs wrap around his waist. Her spine arches into his chest, pushing her pert breasts against his muscular build. Her nails dig into his back and he thrusts against her so hard that beautiful pain almost blinds her.

They fall apart trembling and damp.


End file.
